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... lden purple blood, coupled with the name "Golden Mai Palm," sent shivers down his spine. Memories from his previous life rushed back, and he couldn't help but recall the terrifying techniques of the Zi-Yang Mount, a faction that had pursued him relentlessly.

In his previous life, the Golden Mai Palm had been a formidable weapon of destruction, a technique that had struck fear into the hearts of those who faced it. It wasn't just about the physical damage it inflicted, but the insidious w ...

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When his wife left without a word when they were young, he entrusted their child to his mother and spiraled into despair, drowning his sorrows in alcohol.Sixteen years passed in a blur, and his daughter was diagnosed with depression.As she lay on the hospital bed, she struggled to smile.“Dad, I don't blame you, and I never blamed Mom. If I have another life, I still want to be your child, but please, don't leave me again.”With that, she closed her eyes and departed from this world.It felt like something tore apart in the depths of his heart.Gu Chen fell into a coma.Upon awakening again, his two-year-old daughter was calling him “Daddy” with a sweet smile and a childish voice.He was reborn!This time, he vowed to make up for his regrets towards his daughter, to hold his wife's hand and never let her go.This time, he was determined to change everything!

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Jiang Xi, the warden of a mental asylum, transmigrated one day and became a girl from a farming village who had three engagements annulled and hanged herself three times.

Jiang Xi: That’s ridiculous!Jiang Xi was a psychic who could make predictions come true just by talking.

If she claimed that someone’s house would collapse, it would collapse the next day, even if it was structurally sound. In her previous life, her predictions were a little too real for her family.

They were spooked by her abilities and left her at that asylum.

She was unconcerned and adapted to life there like a duck to water. Though she managed to get promoted to warden after much difficulty, she suddenly transmigrated, and everything was suddenly the way it was before.

She studied her leaking house and sighed to herself.

Whatever. She would live life one day at a time, then.

When her mother clumsily ruined the family’s crops, Jiang Xi assured her: They would be fine tomorrow.Her mother wiped her tears and woke up the following day to check on the crops…

only to find that the ruined sprouts were budding! During the dry season, Jiang Xi’s father stared dolefully at the crops that looked like they were going to wither and die.

Jiang Xi simply pursed her lips and said: There will be a downpour soon.Jiang Xi’s father doubted her words.

But three days later, a downpour came, and he looked just like a happy child.Everyone in the village began to call Jiang Xi a lucky star, and the village head was willing to yield his position to her so that she would lead the village to riches. Bachelors proposed to her and came to her house with generous gifts even though they used to scorn her, but a tanned, muscular man with rough facial features stood in their way before they could reach the Jiangs’ house.

Zhao Xiping pointed at Jiang Xi and declared loudly: My wife! Mine!

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war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”

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As an obscured and transparent slag gamer in the gaming world, Bai Lian Hua (White Lotus) had always been fond of those trash forum posts. Until one day: “White Lotus! Go check out the forum! 233333! You’re getting flamed!!!”